“Mommy, why are her pants ripped?” my three-year-old daughter asked LOUDLY with a voice of concern.
I didn’t have an answer.
“Mommy,” she asked again, “why?” insisting I reply.
The soccer mom passing us by — wearing jeans ripped like she’d been attacked by wolves — overheard her question.
“It was my cat,” she said, trying to save me with a laugh.
But my daughter just looked more worried. Then my five-year-old son two steps behind followed up with the same question, “Mom, is she okay? Why are her jeans so ripped?”
If love is learned, my kids taught me how.
Before there were mom blogs, there were mom books — motherly meditations to help moms power through the monotony of the day.
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She knew I had my hands full and offered to take my son to soccer. She’s a mom.
She noticed my daughter didn’t have ballet shoes and brought an extra pair to class the next week. She’s a neighbor and she’s a mom.
She invited me to lunch when I was lonely. We talked and laughed for hours. She’s a friend and she’s a mom.
She called me when my son bumped his head, when he had a rash and when he skinned his knee. She assured me he’s going to be okay. She’s the school nurse and she’s a mom.
She told me who to see when I needed a good dermatologist, a good pediatric dentist, the best ER for children in town and a good “haircut.” She’s an OB-GYN and she’s a mom.
She made me a coffee during a playdate and let me cry without judgment. She’s a mom.
Grandmas and killer whales are like guinea pigs and gerbils. You can say one and mean the other, and it really doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, both guinea pigs and gerbils are rodents who eat hay. You see, like a good grandma, female killer whales are mammals who become leaders late in life.
Long after menopause, grandmas (insert killer whales here) share their wisdom and experience with younger family members, playing a key role in helping the young find food — especially when Mommy is on a date night!
One mom tired of waking up tired makes a plan to wake up happy – happy to be a mom.
ou have a color-coded calendar, and it’s awesome – until you use the wrong color assigned to one of your kids.
You show up to your son’s soccer game proud your family is 30 minutes early only to find out you’re three hours late. Sorry, coach, I looked at the wrong soccer schedule. “Pile back in, kids!”
You have your own cleat exchange program.
You show up to the school community meeting and greet the principal with your kids only to have him tell you there is no community meeting. You try to sound smart and say, “Ok, well, we’ll just go look at the chickens over here then.”
You love chickens because you buy 18-count cartons of eggs.
You go to the park and get asked, “Are these all yours?” And you don’t even have all your kids.
You don’t have to set an alarm because you wake up every day to four consecutive alarms that can’t be snoozed at 6, 6:01, 6:02 and 6:03 am.
You use a tumbling mat to block the stairs instead of a baby gate.
It was the last day of Spring Break, and my boys’ dreaded requests for screens were starting to rear their ugly heads. The cold weather was keeping us in, but Mama Bear was determined not to give in (even if I needed to do eight loads of laundry and organize a school volunteer list all before the day’s end). “No, boys, I stand by my first NO.”
They asked with more bravado. I played deaf. They said they’d be willing to do chores to earn it. Hmmm, tempting. Nope, I reminded them of our family’s 30-minute iPad limit on the weekends. I was a bullhead, “No means no.”
“But mom, we want to create music on Garage Band!” Ever so clever, they used the key word that Mom likes, create.
How could I say no to creating beautiful music? Oh NO, I can’t back down now! That’s parenting 101: Never change a “no” to a “yes” or forever suffer the manipulations of children trying to turn your “no” into a “yes.” That’s how I got here, anyway, right?
But I did it, AGAIN.